


i can feel it take a hold

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: 5+1, M/M, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: five times virgil holds jordan's hand, and one time jordan holds virgil's.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	i can feel it take a hold

**Author's Note:**

> hi, lovelies! just something nice and soft to get us through this difficult time.
> 
> hope everyone is well, please stay safe and stay home! sending lots of love to you all xx
> 
> feedback always appreciated & thank you for reading! xo

** 1. **

It’s kind of embarrassing, but Virgil has been head over heels for Jordan since the first time his captain screamed at him in the middle of a game. 

He thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about what it would be like for Jordan to turn that fiery gaze on him, but in a different context. Thinks about what it'd be like if Jordan knew, or if he felt the same, or if he even gave a single inkling about how he feels. Sometimes, those thoughts go too far, and he has to pull himself back.

It's embarrassing, but it doesn't matter. Virgil couldn't read Jordan if he tried - and trust him, he has. The only time Jordan ever wears his heart on his sleeve is when he's on the pitch, but other than that, Virgil never knows what he's thinking. Even when he tries to ask - subtly, almost coded - Jordan just smiles, cryptic as ever. And then he backs off, and Virgil is left more confused than he was before.

God, he just wants to know. Is that too much to ask? To know whether the signs he thinks he's seeing are real? Because sometimes, Jordan looks at him. He looks at him and he grins, the fine lines around his eyes deepening, and for a minute Virgil thinks, _this is it_. He really thinks he sees it, the warmth in his smile and the glint in his eye - but then as soon as it's there, it's gone. 

At this point, Virgil doesn't know what to believe.

He decides that he isn't going to think about it at all. Whatever is meant to be will happen, and he's a firm believer in that, so when he catches himself thinking about it, he reprimands himself, actively thinks about something else. Festering in it doesn't do him any good. 

By the third day, it almost comes naturally.

He only briefly talks to Jordan, about the upcoming game and how the team they're facing have been playing recently, and doesn't catch himself staring once. He considers that a success.

Jordan even sits with him at lunch, shoving in between him and Joe to claim the seat next to Virgil. He tells bad jokes, and laughs, the line of his throat bare and beautiful, and Virgil only thinks about how much he wants him once. That, too, is a success, and so he only has a few more hours to go.

The afternoon session is where it starts to go wrong.

He forgets all about his resolve to stay away from Jordan in _that_ capacity, especially when Jordan gravitates towards him from the other side of the pitch. They end up stretching out together, elbows knocking and trading light insults, and it just feels - incredible. He was trying not to over complicate things today, but this just makes him realise how well they fit together.

Jurgen shouts out instructions for them to get up and start with the drills, and Virgil jumps to his feet. The sooner they get this over with, the sooner they can go home. It’s too cold to be outside, but Jordan just groans, stays on the floor with his head tipped back against the grass. 

Virgil raises an eyebrow at him and waits for him to move but he doesn’t, so he nudges the toe of his cleats against Jordan’s ribs and waits for him to open his eyes. He looks offended that Virgil would dare to interrupt his impromptu nap but smiles and takes Virgil’s hand when he holds it out – and that’s when Virgil’s resolve crumbles entirely.

It’s not the first time he’s held Jordan’s hand, but it’s the first time he’s paid attention to it like this. His palm is hot against Virgil’s, smooth in the centre and then thickening to callouses closer to his knuckles, and his fingers curl around the side of Virgil’s hand like they were made just for that.

He snatches his hand away like he’s been burnt, and ignores the questioning look on Jordan’s face.

** 2. **

“Proud of you,” Jordan murmurs, turning his head towards Virgil. The smile on his face is sweet, graceful, and Virgil wants to kiss it away, but at this point he’s not sure if he’s allowed. They’re still taking things slow. “Getting a goal against the giants of Germany.”

The grin that stretches across Virgil’s mouth is so giddy (and soppy) that it’s sickening, but Jordan doesn’t call him out on it. If he doesn’t know that Virgil is desperately in love with him by now then he never will, even if they haven’t actually said the words – and probably won’t for a while. That’s okay, though. They’ve got plenty of time.

“Don’t let the gaffer hear you say that,” Virgil says, loving the thrill that shocks through his body when Jordan laughs. He wants to make him laugh all the time, wants to be the reason he smiles, the reason he’s happy. He’s never, ever felt like this before. It’s brand new and beautiful.

They haven’t told anyone yet, that’s how new it is. It had only been a few weeks since Virgil accidentally stumbled over a speech about how strong his feelings for Jordan were, and the same amount of time bar a few minutes since Jordan had called him an idiot because he’d been flirting with him for almost a year. Still, they’re together now, exploring this fascinating, gorgeous situation as a couple. 

And they’d gotten a few looks when they stumbled into the same pair of seats. They didn’t often sit together during flights or train journeys or coach rides, and that was the case even more so after they’d decided to give things a go. 

But today, Jordan is struggling. The ankle that’s strapped up in a protective boot – even though that’s just a precaution – is at war with the joy he’s feeling about getting through to the quarter finals of the Champions League. Virgil knew that, could tell with just a single look, so he’s been sticking to Jordan’s side like glue. As long as he can take his mind off of everything that’s happened, he’ll call it a success.

“I know what you’re doing,” Jordan whispers, and maybe Virgil hasn’t been as subtle as he thought. It doesn’t matter though. He has nothing to hide, and he never will. Not from this man. “Thank you, Virg.” 

“I just care about you,” Virgil says, knocking his knee against Jordan’s. Jordan smiles up at him from beneath his eyelashes, small and sweet, and it takes Virgil’s breath away. Sometimes, he still can’t believe how lucky he is. “I meant what I said before, you know. Don’t you ever forget that.” 

“How could I forget it, hm?” Jordan says. He angles his entire body towards Virgil and he’s smirking now, a playful look on his face. It makes Virgil roll his eyes. “When you stood on my doorstep in the pouring rain like some kind of rom-com and told me about your undying love for me? That was a moment to tell the grandkids, that. One for the history books.”

“Shut up,” Virgil says, more than a little bit embarrassed. He still takes Jordan’s hand though, slots his fingers in the gaps between Jordan’s and rests them both on the armrest between their seats. “I did not say undying love.” 

“Not yet, but one day,” Jordan teases, but then the realisation of what he said settles over his body. It’s his turn to be embarrassed now, and he flushes bright red from the tips of his ears down, disappearing under the collar of his t-shirt.

“Yeah, probably,” Virgil says, entirely honest. He smiles, wide and beaming, squeezing Jordan’s hand, and leans forward to drop a gentle kiss to his forehead. At this point, he doesn’t care who sees, who knows, who finds out what’s going on. He wants to scream it to the world. “Sooner rather than later if you carry on as you are.” 

A disbelieving smile spreads across Jordan’s face, and something delicate blossoms in Virgil’s chest at the sight of it.

** 3. **

“Missed you,” Virgil murmurs, cornering Jordan against a wall in the dressing room. He’s so glad he caught him before he left, and he curls his fingers into the belt loops on Jordan’s jeans, pulling him in tight for a kiss.

“You saw me five minutes ago,” Jordan says. A sweet laugh bubbles up his throat but he doesn’t pull away, just rests his hands on Virgil’s chest and smiles up at him. “What are you after?”

“You,” Virgil says honestly, dipping his head to kiss Jordan again. It’s different from the first one; this one is slower, deeper, his tongue brushing sparks against Jordan’s, and the older man lets out a needy sigh when he pulls away. “Come home with me. Stay over tonight.” 

“Yeah?” Jordan asks hopefully. His entire face lights up and he tightens his fingers in the front of Virgil’s hoodie. “You sure?”

“Well, we got done early today, and we have a day off tomorrow,” Virgil murmurs, brushing his nose against Jordan’s teasingly. Jordan’s lashes flutter against his cheeks as he closes his eyes against the sensation, and Virgil can’t resist the urge to drop a chaste kiss onto his mouth. “I can’t think of a better time, can you?” 

“No,” Jordan says, smile slowly turning into a smirk. “No, I suppose not.”

He follows Virgil in his own car, parking on the driveway behind Virgil, and he looks – nervous, when he gets out. Muscles trembling and fingers jittery as he pushes his jacket over his shoulders and hangs it up on the hooks just inside the front door. He’s been here before, of course. Just not when he knows he’s going to stay the night.

It's so easy between them. It always has been, and that's why Virgil fell for him in the first place. Their friendship had always been easy, deep conversations and light jokes flowing between them, and Virgil feels more comfortable around Jordan than he does with his own siblings. He's glad that never changed when their relationship evolved into something more. 

Virgil cooks, a stir fry that’s healthy enough that Jordan feels comfortable with but just about nice enough to be the kind of food that can be considered appropriate for a situation like this, and they eat it with the bowls on their laps, sitting in front of the telly. Jordan compliments the food, and Virgil feels his entire body flush with pride. 

It’s nice. They bury themselves under a blanket and watch Shawshank Redemption – because it’s Jordan’s favourite film – and Virgil can’t help but notice, out of the corner of his eye, that Jordan keeps gravitating towards him. Inch by inch, until he just glances up at Virgil’s face and then officially gives up the ghost, pillowing his head on Virgil’s chest.

“Getting soft in your old age,” Virgil murmurs, curling his arm around Jordan’s shoulders. He’s smiling though, presses it into the top of Jordan’s head to try and hide it. He loves that Jordan feels comfortable enough with him to act like this. 

“Shut up,” Jordan says. Virgil can’t see him roll his eyes but he can hear it in his voice, and he feels the gentle punch that Jordan lands on his stomach. “You’re a very comfortable pillow.”

“Oh, well, as long as your majesty is happy,” Virgil says sarcastically. Jordan’s hand hits his stomach again, just as careful as before. but Virgil catches his wrist before he can pull it away properly, and tangles their fingers together.

Jordan breathes out at the action, a little heavier than normal but it sounds so blissfully _happy_ that Virgil’s chest feels tight. With love, adoration, with gratefulness – he doesn’t know what kind of person he would be if he hadn’t met Jordan. He can’t imagine his life without him by now, and they’ve only been together for a little over a month. 

“I love you,” he chokes out. He feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t say it right this second. “I know you’re not going to say it back – it’s too soon for you, and I know that, I understand, but I have to tell you, J. I can’t keep it in anymore. I love you.” 

“Who’s the soft one now?” Jordan asks, voice thick. He pulls back to look at Virgil and then rises to his knees, hands coming up to frame his face. “You know how I feel about you, idiot.”

The warm kisses he peppers across Virgil’s cheeks say much more than his words do.

** 4. **

Virgil presses himself up against Jordan’s side, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“You look very sexy tonight,” he murmurs, tries to make himself sound sultry. Instead, his words just sound slurred, and Jordan laughs. He wasn’t supposed to _laugh_. He was supposed to be _seduced_. 

“I gathered that the first three times you told me,” Jordan says, lifting his arm so Virgil can tuck himself under it. His fingernails scratch at the back of his neck gently, and Virgil intends to tell him that he’s not a cat, but it feels nice, so. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Only three,” he says, arm tightening around Jordan’s waist. He’s entirely aware that he’s interrupted a conversation, but he doesn’t _care_. Jordan is his boyfriend, and if he wants his attention, he will damn well get it. Jordan, luckily, seems to agree. “You told me I was allowed to drink.” 

“You are, I just don’t want you overdoing it,” Jordan says. The tips of his fingers travel upwards to rub through the short, soft hairs at the base of Virgil’s skull, and a shudder travels down his spine. “We both know you’re a lightweight.” 

“I am _not_ ,” Virgil says, entirely affronted – but he is pretty tipsy off three beers. At least he’s a cheap date. “I’m drunk in love.” 

Jordan snickers, pretty cruelly, behind his hand.

“With you,” Virgil adds hopefully, like that’s going to change Jordan’s mind and decide that his boyfriend is the most romantic in the entire world. It doesn’t, but he does stop laughing, turning his amused smile on Virgil and squeezing the back of his neck. 

“I should hope so, too,” he murmurs, dragging Virgil into a booth and sitting him down. “I don’t want you telling all the boys the things you say to me.” 

“You’re my boy. My only boy,” Virgil sighs, settling in next to Jordan. Jordan gestures at someone to get a glass of water, and okay, maybe Virgil is a little drunk, but he isn’t that bad. He’s just – happy. Celebrating Trent’s birthday. He lines his palm up with Jordan’s and slots his fingers in the gaps, gripping his hand so tight that it must hurt. Jordan doesn’t complain.

“I told you you should have eaten before we came out,” Jordan says, tutting. He presses a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, their joined hands resting on his knee, and ignores the pout on Virgil’s face. “Now I’ve got to deal with you being a big drunken lump.” 

“I am not a _lump_ , Jordan,” Virgil says, trying (and failing) to stick his nose in the air. He’s sobering up fairly quickly now, but he’s just exhausted, so he tucks his head in the space between Jordan’s jaw and his shoulder. This is why he doesn’t drink a lot. “You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to be my boyfriend, stop insulting me.” 

Before Jordan can reply, Gini has appeared with a glass of water, placing it on the table in front of Virgil. He’s grinning, because he’s seen this before – has been on the receiving end of a drunken Virgil more than once. He’s used to it by now. “Do you need a hand?” He asks, ignoring the glare that Virgil gives him.

“No, you’re alright, G – go enjoy yourself,” Jordan says, fingers scratching through Virgil’s hair again. He smiles up at Gini with only a single quick glance down at Virgil. “I knew what I was signing up for, so I’ll take care of the lump.” 

Virgil would be offended if he didn’t feel so weirdly emotional.

** 5. **

Jordan’s breath stutters. Virgil can feel it where his mouth is over his Adam’s apple, tongue swiping lazily against the salty skin. Jordan is sensitive enough that it makes him shudder, fingers curling around Virgil’s biceps and nails digging into the muscle.

“Will you just _move_ ,” he says – begs. Virgil tuts, teeth sinking into the hollow of his throat just to hear him cry out. He’s so fucking perfect. “Please, Virg – _please_.” 

There it is. That’s what he wanted. 

Still, he drags it out. Drops a soft kiss onto Jordan’s lips and then moves one hand from his hip, up to his side, and then tangles their fingers together. Presses Jordan’s hand into the mattress and leans down to kiss him again, all wet heat that makes it hard for him to hold back.

So he doesn’t.

He pulls his hips back and grinds back in slowly, watching the way Jordan’s entire body goes slack. He’s so beautiful, so stunning, Virgil can’t take his eyes off of him. He angles his hips upwards this time, and watches the way Jordan’s spine curves upwards like he can’t get enough. 

“I love you,” Virgil whispers, free hand holding Jordan’s waist so tight he’s going to leave bruises. Jordan presses his head against the pillow restlessly and doesn’t say a word, just tightens the leg he’s got wrapped around Virgil’s waist and digs his heel into his back. Virgil smirks, because he knows exactly what he wants.

The pace he sets is relentless, hips snapping almost erratically. It’s so hard to keep his composure when Jordan is scratching down his back, so hard to keep himself contained. He loves Jordan, wants nothing more than to make him feel good. It seems like it’s working.

Jordan comes first, body freezing and mouth parted. He makes these gorgeous little whimpering noises and then falls back against the bed, eyes closed as he swallows. Then it's Virgil's turn - he tucks his face into Jordan's neck and lets himself be held as he comes down, shivers travelling through his entire body.

He has never, ever felt anything like this.

And he's glad of it.

** +1. **

Virgil pushes his sunglasses up his nose, looks out across the sea. It’s a beautiful day, temperatures hitting well over thirty degrees by now, and the beach is completely empty. It’s his idea of a perfect holiday, to be honest.

It doesn’t hurt that Jordan’s looking incredible. His skin is tanned, bronze underneath the sunlight, and the light blue of his shorts offset that perfectly. Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever fancied him so much – and that’s saying something. 

“What you thinking about?” Jordan murmurs, turning over on his towel to look at Virgil. He places a warm hand on his stomach because he can, because there’s absolutely nobody around to tell them they can’t do that. They’ve got nothing to worry about right now.

“You,” Virgil answers honestly. He twists his head so he can smile at Jordan, inching across to plant a kiss on the reddened tip of his nose. “How good you look right now.” 

“Not quite,” Jordan says, winkling his nose. He’d been the one to find this villa, on a small Greek island that was only accessible by boat. It came with its own private fenced-off slice of beach and a whole set of staff, but they’d sent them home and promised they’d get full pay. They’re perfectly capable of looking after themselves, and some alone time in the sun is just what they’re after anyway. “I’m covered in sand and I think my shoulder has started peeling.” 

“You always look good to me,” Virgil says, kissing Jordan again. When he pulls away, there’s a distant, happy smile on his face, dazed like he can’t quite believe his luck. Well, he’d better start believing it, because Virgil isn’t going anywhere. “Even when you’ve got the flu and you’re all sweaty and miserable. Even when you force yourself to play and I end up rubbing your back while you’re throwing up at half time. Even when you’re minutes away from passing out and Klopp is shouting at you but you still stand up to him – I still fancy you, even then.” 

Jordan’s smile grows wider and his cheeks go red, but it’s not from the sun. He’s just so unashamedly happy, and he stretches his arm across until he finds Virgil’s hands, and then slots their fingers together. Shifts until their hands are resting on Virgil’s chest, and leans down to give him a heated kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s said it, and Virgil’s heart stops beating and then speeds right up, and he curls his free hand around the back of Jordan’s head. “I love you so much.” 

Virgil had always been more than okay with the prospect of Jordan potentially never saying those words (and to be honest, at a certain point, it started feeling like he never would), but he’s so, so glad he’s heard them. He’s so glad it’s _now_ , no sooner and no later, because he knows that they’re completely truthful.

He drags Jordan’s head down and kisses him. Kisses him, kisses him, and kisses him, until he’s breathless and longing for more. He’s always longing for more when it comes to Jordan. 

But right now, he’s never felt so content. This is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
